Night Life

Today was the first day a teacher called me out on sleeping in class. I haven't felt so racked with guilt for a long time... so I went back later and apologized. In stats and physics and art history, I can always manage to laugh it off with several gulps of coffee and a reassuring look of squinting, dried eyes, yet to this hour, I still feel horrible for the disrespect I showed.

On the other hand, Watson is the most attractive 5'6" actor in the world. I think he's made me a fangirl. My quads, he's so cool. He's not afraid of the war... he misses it.

I finished my early action apps. My fate is out of my hands, except for not violating the Stupid Rule. Every time I study art history, I feel so stupid. How come I can't remember anything? How can everyone else? I remember feeling similarly at the worst of AP French and AP Chem, when I was hopelessly lost and too embarrassed to ask for help. In Physics C, its kind of like that, where all I have to say is jargon, like I'm some trophy girl with nothing intelligent to offer. I know people like that - I always sniveled at them, and now I'm one of them? I used to always be able to help people with their homework, even if I didn't want to. I used to do the set-up problems for fun, and now I'm fighting to stay focused on the problem. When was I so dumb. At least MVC has treated me well, although iterated integrals have been pretty rough so far, even on CalcChat. The conclusion? I'll have to sleep more... and work harder.

I've started living into the night now. I didn't really understand why people would do this to themselves. I never understand those people who slept until noon. But these past two weeks, I've been sleeping anywhere between 12 and 3, clicking the night away. I wake up at 10 to the fading glow of my laptop, eat some junk food, and click away some more. I don't have any butterflies or the nervous laughter. I don't have the old teddy bear fantasies or fireplace cuddlies. I just want to run, to go forward, to pull that infamous wink I used to fall for, to squint in the rushing winds, laughing.

I'd rather keep to Heisenberg, to be caught in an oscillating . To know position, but not speed, not position, but speed. To keep the obvious subtleties buried so deep into thought, to make horrible flirtatious allusions. To make faces... to sleep. To celebrate.

So why do I act like I want something different. Am I bitter that vengeance is all that's left to want? Or am I afraid, that after the involuntary smile, the sigh of submission, the inconceivable shift away of pleasurable embarrassment, there'll be just an emptiness left inside?

Remains

Conventionally exciting things are happening in my life again. This means I must blog about them so that my close writer friends will know how great it is to be uncontrollably confused and tired at the same time.

I'm not looking for anything. I'm happy alone now, surrounded by good friends, hilarious physics demonstrations, acceptable test scores. I didn't think about eating too much the past two weeks - I felt empty and content, not too cold, full of energy to run as I please, into the day and night.

But man, boys.

Seeing my past from this present perspective kind of sickens me. The sacrifices made for all of the unfulfilled promises, the emotional responsibility, the constant urge to take advantage of any time while living a life of lies right in front of my parents. The nagging lies that nothing is worth more than how special it feels to sense admiration. The distance from my friends, my broken focus, twisted priorities. For all the love that bound our tragic, our comedic romance, it wasn't enough to surpass our ages' maturity, our weakened faith, our inexperience.

Its been three weeks. With the exception of a week's worth of swollen eyes, the bloating feeling of overstuffing myself with pity is completely gone. People, events, objects - if they were meant to be together, then they would be. The scientific cosmos kind of dictates this absoluteness, but God is also sovereign. Whatever the answer is to predestination vs. free will, He is. So it is.

But its also been three weeks. The remnants of bitterness and anger remain. The expectation to be disappointed roars in my head. The constant reminder of all that's gone wrong tells me to stop. What do I really want? Not a repeated past. Not a future of flowers and math that will wilt with a hormonal drop in excitement. No sweet songs. No dinner dates.

Instead, a hollow, sickening feeling points itself to filling in the gap that was left behind. Some go-to satisfaction, something that can shelved and reshelved, distinctly. Something that can be killed in a button, but brought out in a wink. Something conventionally wrong. Something I hated before, before I knew how it felt, never forgave, and wanted so desperately to claim as my own. Something that can happen.

We ran tonight. The darkness did its job well - it hid what shouldn't have happened so quickly; it hid my utter confusion. It hid any desire, every bead of sweat. The sound of wheezing brought to life memories unwanted. We did run so much faster than I've felt in so long, like birds among trees, as if we were dancing in sprints. But I couldn't help it. Everything I didn't want presented itself. Everything I did want (with the exception of college, friends, food, badminton, family, overall well-being, and excellent physical hotness (just kidding)) presented itself.

I'm answering my own question. I know what I'm trying to pursue. But how could I tell anyone? How could I do this.